Classical Chinese dance wasn’t a term Ling Fengxiao was familiar with. He knew the imperial palace had special court dancers while the ethnic tribes beyond the kingdom’s borders also had their own traditions, but that was about it. In truth, the “classical” part of the dance form referred to the ancient past—a past that was now Mei Yanran’s present, although she was too worked up to notice right now.
Ling Fengxiao’s eyes flickered with interest before he steadied his gaze on her. “How so?”
“Because it expresses the soul!” Mei Yanran said as if it were obvious.
“As do paintings, calligraphy, and music,” Ling Fengxiao pointed out mercilessly. If she wanted a debate, he’d give her a proper one. “Without the burdensome shell of a body, might I add.”
“Hah?!” Mei Yanran stood up straighter at his remark. “How can you dance without a body? That’s a paradox!”
“It is only a reminder,” Ling Fengxiao said smoothly. “That the human form distracts as much as it attracts. Dance uses the common form that all people possess and shapes it into something exquisite, it is true—but its very presentation serves as a lure for wandering thoughts.”
“Then that’s the problem of the dancer or her movements—or even the viewers themselves,” Mei Yanran argued back. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder; you won’t see beautiful things unless your thoughts are beautiful too!”
“Is that so? Then clearly, the other arts are superior,” Ling Fengxiao nodded placidly. “Pure music elevates the senses, refined verse takes us to higher realms of thoughts, exquisite paintings cleanses our eyes.”
“Dance can do those things too!”
“Ah but, as you’ve said, it is prone to shortcomings in its viewerbase and performers,” Ling Fengxiao reminded her, before mercilessly adding on, “And as an art form holding common court with street performers and...the ones beneath red lanterns, it is far more difficult to distinguish its fair from its foul.”
“That’s a shortcoming of all arts, not just dance!” Mei Yanran countered. “There will always be ugly and beautiful parts to any kind of creative profession. The question is which kind a person prefers, and how much they try to improve the art, not ruin it.”
“If dance is as elevated as you claim,” Ling Fengxiao attacked next, using the same sort of relentless rhetoric that would paint his fierce reputation as Prime Minister in the future, “Why do the history books make no mentions of its virtues? Where are the scholars singing its praises, or the masterpieces left for future generations to consider? You and I could both be wrong, but what of a people and its past? Could generations ignore its merits since the time of our ancestors?”
T-that’s because this is still ancient China! Mei Yanran realized at the same time she gave a jolt. The traditions of Chinese dance were scattered or passed on from teacher to students; they weren’t systematically organized until contemporary times, and certainly rarely recorded in those dusty history texts beyond mentions of altar rituals, celebrations, or the like. It would take millennia before the art form matured to its current level of technique and precision, and even now the style was less well known than its distant neighbor, ballet.
Thus, Chinese dancers were typically associated with the highly regulated dances of the royal courts, the mixed and varied styles of its ethnic dances, or worse—performances of brothel courtesans that gave it a low reputation. Such dances were simply meant to entertain or distract, and served no higher purpose. Mei Yanran could imagine Ling Fengxiao thinking of all these as he spoke his arguments and knew it all made sense, but she didn’t want to give up.
Dance was her life. Her first love—even before she read about Ling Fengxiao. She already swore to be true to herself to win his heart, and that meant holding fast to core beliefs.
“Why does something have to be recorded by historians to be seen as ‘good?’” she finally replied. “There is goodness all around us—in the people, places, and things. Hundreds of them go unnoticed by day, but that doesn’t negate their existence. If—if history was recorded as a dance instead of a book, I know it’d be just as faithful to the accounts as a written record. No, it’d be even better, because then you’d get to record the emotions and reactions too!”
A picture was worth a thousand words, a film clip was made of a thousand pictures. A living and breathing dance, done now and in the flesh, would be akin to living the past in real time.
“It’s a fair argument, but your subject is straying,” Ling Fengxiao observed. “How effective dance works as a medium to record history has no relation to how noble an art form it appears.”
Huh, I guess that makes sense, Mei Yanran nodded, before shaking her head. Hold on, I’m supposed to be defending my point!
“I’m not done yet!” she exclaimed hastily. “What I’m saying is—people might have different meanings and emotions conveyed through their arts, but it doesn’t negate the art as a whole. Paintings can’t be judged by one bad picture, just as dances can’t be judged by all the bad dancers!”
“So you’re saying,” Ling Fengxiao paused meaningfully, “We should acknowledge the quality of a dance only after we find a good dancer?”
“...you could put it that way,” Mei Yanran nodded thoughtfully. “But good choreography, music, and costumes are a must too. Like all great masterpieces, a good dance is the sum of its parts.”
“So someone like you would be an ideal gauge for these sorts of things,” Ling Fengxiao went on.
Mei Yanran gave a start before she nodded confidently. “Right! Being the winner of the Snow Festival probably qualifies me a bit!”
This time it was Ling Fengxiao’s turn to start, though he kept the reaction purely inside his head. Haha, I didn’t expect her to have the confidence to praise herself. Then again, it takes a certain amount of guts to stand and perform before a crowd.
Growing amused, he took the chance to joke, “If that’s the case, should I only look to you as a paragon of...this classical dance style in the future?”
Mei Yanran gave it careful thought. According to what she’d seen at the festival, none of the girls could compare to her in dance techniques or skills. In order to keep up the integrity of the dance she loved so much, she had to make sure Ling Fengxiao only saw better examples than the average performance! And who was more qualified than herself?
“That’s right,” she replied in all seriousness. “Like you said, Lord Ling, it’s easy to get distracted, especially if there are bad samples! From now on, just take my dances as the standard.”
While Ling Fengxiao continued to grow bemused with her daring, Mei Yanran rattled on, “And actually, it’ll be good if you’re around to give me a second opinion! To be honest...I don’t know if I can choreograph something so impressive for next year’s Snow Festival on my own. I spent most of my dancing life following my teachers’ orders, after all.”
“You had more than one teacher?” Ling Fengxiao asked, zeroing in on the crucial detail.
“Of course! I—” Mei Yanran blinked, then cleared her throat. “Uh, the first one was older of course, so after I grew up I moved onto a different instructor. Teachers have to lead by example after all, and dancers have flexible limbs.”
“Were these teachers all from your hometown?” Ling Fengxiao asked next. While Chang Yin had been investigating in the south, he’d found no such renowned masters or students as equally skilled in dance as Mei Yanran. Then again, it was possible they too, were nobles’ daughters who only did the art in the privacy of their own homes.
“Oh no, they came from all parts of Chin—of the kingdom,” Mei Yanran coughed, then looked sharply at him. “Goodness Lord Ling, are you interested in learning dance too?”
This time, Ling Fengxiao really did give a start. “What would a man like me do with that?” he asked coolly.
For a second, Mei Yanran was worried she’d offended him. She only wanted to divert the topic elsewhere! But looking at the man’s calm dark eyes as he waited patiently, she began suspecting he was...actually waiting for an answer.
“Wellllll~” she began, “Dancing’s great for stretching out your limbs! That’ll help a lot when you get older. And it gets you moving, which cheers you up, and helps you lose weight and improve posture and—”
“What’s wrong with my posture?” Ling Fengxiao said suddenly.
“N-nothing!” Mei Yanran hastily waved her hands. Then she paused and looked up, tracing his figure from chest to forehead. “Although...it’s probably really hard on your back to be so stiff and straight all the time.”
Stiff and straight?
Mei Yanran thought she might have seen his lips twitch. The next second, a huge shadow loomed down from above, blocking out the pale winter sun. She hardly had time to react before Ling Fengxiao’s voice was murmuring by her ear.
“...how about now?”
